


my little versailles

by tkillamockingbird (Theboys)



Series: Rachmaninov (prelude in C sharp minor) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Thor (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/tkillamockingbird
Summary: “I thought about you,” Thor says, pressing his mouth into the soft down of Loki’s hair, “the whole time I was gone.”In which Loki cannot follow directions, and Thor follows Loki.





	my little versailles

**Author's Note:**

> this should not exist. i'm going to fail midterms.  
> (this will be grossly out of context without reading the prior fic).

“Is he still in the hospital?”

Thor’s voice carries, even though he’s speaking in a tone adjacent to whispering. Loki scrubs the back of his hand over one eye, sheets pooling to the center of his waist. 

Thor’s side of the bed is cool and unwrinkled.

“Thor?” He says, and he immediately regrets it. It’s habit to call for Thor in the middle of the night, especially when Thor is situated in the center of the living room floor, stacks of papers arranged in a semicircle around him, with names like: _ Translational Research on Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. _

Thor’s footsteps change direction, from the gentle back-and-forth pacing he utilizes while on the phone, to the more purposeful stride that brings him to his bedroom door.

The door cracks open, letting in a sliver of muted light, and Loki is abruptly ashamed. 

He reaches for the blankets, a deep royal blue, and tugs them up to his neck, even though Thor tucks them underneath his mattress with the exactness of a military bedspread. 

Thor is still majority focused on his phone call, making grunts at appropriate intervals, but he comes close enough to press a broad hand into Loki’s disheveled hair. 

Loki tips into his palm, rubbing sensitive flesh against Thor’s calluses. He winces once as the rough  skin scrapes his cheek, and Thor’s hand tightens. 

“Hold on, Mom,” Thor says suddenly, and he fumbles with his phone before dropping it just beside Loki’s knees. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Thor murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble couched in darkness. 

Loki sucks his lower lip in between his teeth, eyes wide. He never understands what to do with Thor. Thor is comfort, inconceivably, and Loki whines, high in his throat. 

“I know you don’t like the dark,” Thor continues apologetically, moving his thumb just enough so that it tugs Loki’s lip free. 

“It was a nightmare,” Loki says, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, lashes damp against his face. 

Thor’s phone is still illuminated, mute button shaded in white, and Thor’s gaze flickers toward it. 

“Come here,” he beckons, and when Loki doesn’t move quickly enough, Thor settles next to him on the bed and pulls Loki bodily into his lap. 

It’s a quick shuffle, and Loki’s bare-assed against Thor’s sleep pants, warmed against his big body. 

“Think you can fall back to sleep while I finish talking to my mom?” Thor says, and his hand rubs down Loki’s bare spine, each nodule a small obstacle. 

Loki tentatively wraps his arms around Thor’s shoulders and presses his face into the crook of Thor’s neck. 

Thor’s chest rumbles and his hand becomes a claw, dragging Loki so closely to his chest that his dick is pressed up between them, a hot brand against Thor’s abdomen. 

“You can tell me about it tomorrow, baby,” Thor says, and Loki falls asleep like that, the sway and dip of Thor’s chest lulling him into nothing. 

-

Loki sits in Hendrie for ten hours on the first day of fall break. 

He’s rehearsing a Haydn piece, sonata in E-flat, and he’s stumbling. 

He doesn't particularly like Haydn. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate his contributions, but he’s not a fan of the quick musical turnaround Haydn employs. 

As it is, he falters. 

It’s a minute failure but he pauses all the same, hands poised above cream keys.  

He can only hear the sound of his own breathing, overbearing in the emptiness of the hall. 

For a second there’s nothing at all, and then—

_ I guess there’s nothing to do about you, then  _

His hands drop, smacking black and white with a discordant clang. 

“Is that a twist? I’ve never heard a Haydn piece end with quite so much...panache.”

Loki tucks the loose tendrils of his hair behind his ear and stands, even though the knee of his bad leg buckles a bit from the prolonged stiffness. 

Loki has relatively good vision but the lights in the room are bright, untempered by the newly renovated floor to ceiling windows. 

“Hello?”

Loki braces his weight against the lid with one hand, maneuvering his leg with the other. 

“It’s after hours,” Loki says. “And, furthermore, it’s fall break. Nobody’s here.”

“You’re here,” the voice teases, and a man comes into view. He’s older than Loki at first glance, although admittedly, that’s not difficult. 

His hair is so dark as to be almost black, and he walks with the familiarity of one who is accustomed with a place, but not overly so.

“My sister’s a violinist,” he explains, and Loki’s fingers tighten against the polish. 

“She told me to meet her outside Hendrie. We’re driving to see our parents and,” he says, spreading his arms open, “I’m her ride.”

“She said outside,” Loki says, and he steps down from the elevated platform, leg still buzzing uncomfortably. “You seem reasonably intelligent, so I’m not sure why we’re discussing the blatant meaning behind your sister’s instructions.”

The man is grinning, a mouth full of even, white teeth, and Loki blinks into the stillness. 

“And I’m normally very good at following them. But I’ve heard a lot of pianists in my day, and you are very,  _ very  _ good.”

Loki can’t stop the full body blush, and his helplessness only serves to make him further color. 

“Go find your sister,” Loki says. “Unless you want me to lock you in here for the night.”

-

Thor has to attend a research seminar for the first half of break, and so Loki comes and goes as he pleases. 

He’s not particularly good at managing a healthy schedule or a grocery schedule or any schedule outside of work and practice, but Thor left him some pre-packaged food in his refrigerator, along with cash that Loki would never spend. 

He’s planning on throwing the meals away, as he’s not likely to finish any of them, rehearsing days and nights at Hendrie, and so it really doesn’t surprise him that he’s lightheaded by the end of the next day. 

He likes to end with composers he enjoys, ones that he’s learned over the years, and so it’s Liszt that comprises the finale, a sonata in B minor. 

Loki stands, and it’s Anica’s brother that watches him sway in place. 

He’s closer than he was the first time they’d met, and he tucks his hand underneath Loki’s elbow in order to steady him. 

“That one was a bit...abrasive, don’t you think?” 

“What’s your name,” Loki says, blinking away the spots of color from behind his eyelids. 

“Aaron,” Aaron says amicably, and Loki takes a deep breath. 

“Aaron,” Loki repeats, “now I have a specifier to use when I’m calling you an insufferable shit,” Loki says, and Aaron’s grip grows stronger. 

“If you don’t sit down for a second,” Aaron says, glancing around to avoid smacking into the nearby baby grand, “I don’t think you’ll be saying much at all.”

“I’ll just have to interpret for him then, won’t I?”

The interruption makes Aaron spin suddenly, Loki still attached, and Loki feels bile rise in his throat. 

“Thor!” He says, and Aaron looks from Thor to him with an inscrutable gaze, even as Loki bites the inside of his cheek to hide just how pleased he is to see him. 

“You know him?” Aaron says dubiously, and Loki squints up at him in irritation. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Thor says casually, and he crosses the room in four long strides with a quick hop at the end, settling onto the platform with ease.

Aaron drops his elbow and Thor places two hands on either side of Loki’s waist, steadying him greatly. 

Loki’s still a bit dumbfounded, as Thor’s never called him  _ boyfriend  _ before, and he still reeling.

“Do  _ you  _ know  _ him? _ ” Thor asks, and Loki is sandwiched between the two of them, facing Thor, and he tilts his neck backwards to catch Thor’s eyes at the spike of bass in his voice.

Aaron’s voice compresses and Loki abruptly feels out of his depth.

“Clearly not,” Aaron says and his hand comes down against Loki’s shoulder, and he can’t help his violent flinch forward, coming into contact with Thor’s chest.

Thor keeps one hand on the jut of his hipbone and the other comes up to cradle the base of Loki’s skull, an absent massage of scalp.

Loki squeezes his eyes closed, thankful that he can’t see Aaron’s reaction to his inherent weakness.

“Bye, Loki,” Aaron says after a charged pause, and Loki counts Thor’s heartbeats, a frantic hum beneath skin.

-

Loki surreptitiously rubs at his shin as Thor buckles him into the passenger seat. 

Loki often forgets to strap in, a relic of his scatterbrained childhood. 

Thor tugs once to make sure that he’s secure and doesn’t say anything else. 

Loki’s chest is concave and Thor’s hands are tight against the steering wheel. 

Thor likes to tap beats against the wheel in order to test Loki’s familiarity with different compositions. 

Everything is a competition, and Loki is loathe to miss any of Thor’s tests, even though he knows it’s harmless fun on Thor’s end. 

“T-Thor?” Loki says, and his heart thumps oddly, pushing the air too quickly into his throat. 

Thor doesn’t reply, but the car accelerates infinitesimally and Loki fists the seatbelt strap in two hands. 

“Daddy?” Loki whispers, and it’s below the belt, because Thor has trouble denying Loki at the best of times, and almost never can when Loki’s asking for Daddy. 

“Not til we get home, Lo,” Thor says, and he sounds weary. 

Loki presses his head against the glass of the window and remembers that he needs to be the best. 

-

Thor’s place is dimly lit when they arrive, and Thor helps him up the last few steps that always give him trouble. 

Thor sets his keys on the mantle and Loki stands helplessly in the middle of the living room, wringing his hands together wetly. 

“Are you hungry?” Thor asks, and Loki shakes his head vigorously, no. 

“You sure?” Thor says, and he wrenches the refrigerator open with a bang. 

Loki winces and Thor pulls out seven covered dishes, each wrapped in the same foil Thor used to create them. 

“I don’t need to check to know you haven’t eaten any of these,” Thor says. 

“And the money is still on the dresser,” Thor says, pausing. “So. Can you tell me what you’ve been eating since I left? Because you’re not an especially good cook, cute as you are, and you tend to rehearse at the expense of everything else.”

Loki sways from right to left, belying Thor’s point. 

“I wasn’t hungry,” he says, “and I couldn’t  _ get  _ this Haydn piece. I don’t like Haydn but they want me to perform at Sprague this spring. I can’t mess this up just because I don’t like his style—or worse, because I’m not good enough at it.”

Thor is vibrating in place, and Loki blinks three times, trying and failing to hold back tears. 

It was always better to stand still. Loki sucks in his air and becomes a motionless thing, and even the latent trembling from hunger ceases to exist. 

He’s been waiting a while, longer than he’s accustomed, and he’s unsure that he’ll be able to remain upright much longer when Thor makes a strangled sound. 

“Loki, baby, I’m not gonna touch you. Look at me, huh?” Thor says, and when Loki opens his eyes, Thor is hovering before him, hands outstretched. 

“You know that, right?” Thor says, and Loki sighs, eyes already wet, spine bowing forward. 

“You’re starving,” Thor says, and Loki can feel him shaking, so much so that he shoves his way into Thor’s hands just so his boyfriend can drag one palm down to squeeze at the curve of Loki’s ass. 

Loki mewls, high and pitiful, and Thor’s body loosens. 

“I thought about you,” Thor says, pressing his mouth into the soft down of Loki’s hair, “the whole time I was gone.”

“The way you sleep naked in my bed, all warm against me,” Thor says, and his voice dips, a heated rumble that makes Loki’s hole clench on nothing but promise. 

“I worry about you,” Thor sighs, and Loki fists Thor’s sweatshirt in both hands. 

“I don’t like when you leave,” Loki admits, and Thor squats suddenly, one knee cracking as he scoops Loki up so that Loki’s got no choice but to wrap both legs around Thor’s wide waist. 

“You miss me?” Thor teases, ducking his head to bite at Loki’s sensitive earlobe. 

Loki’s hair falls to curtain his face as he laughs, warm and sweet into Thor’s neck. 

His  _ yes, Daddy  _ is muffled, but Thor’s palms tighten on his ass regardless. 

-

Thor’s pinning his tie clip in place the next morning, even as Loki turns over to watch him with bleary eyes.

“You can go back to sleep, baby,” Thor says, squinting a bit at his reflection in the mirror. “I have to present my research proposal today,” he adds, and Loki stands, even though his body aches from last night.

Thor glances up at him and his hand slips, tightening his tie into an almost-noose around his neck.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and Loki flushes even though it makes him feel strangely confident. 

He can see himself in the mirror hanging above Thor’s dresser, his skin a collection of violet starbursts. Thor often grips him with barely controlled violence, and Loki presses up against his side, naked and only slightly ashamed.

“Absolutely not,” Thor hisses, and Loki takes his hand and moves it to cup his ass, dragging two fingers down the crease and into his swollen-hot rim.

Thor groans and presses his index and middle deeper, leaning down to hear Loki’s choked off moan.

“Daddy,” Loki whispers, shoving his face into Thor’s arm, and Thor scissors his fingers quickly, just to force Loki onto his tiptoes in pleasure.

“You’re the wettest little thing,” Thor says, and Loki is always reduced like this, murmuring nonsense that only Thor seems to be able to make sense of.

“Daddy loves you like this,” Thor says, and Loki can’t do anything but grind down on thick fingers.

-

Hel calls directly after round one of Sprague auditions have ended, and Loki is shaking in the corridor, trying to get the courage to go and sit in Gilmore until Thor finishes at practicum.

He answers his brother on autopilot, knows that Hel will want to hear everything about the audition process, even that Loki hadn’t slept in two nights and throws up everything Thor feeds him two minutes after Thor leaves the apartment for the day.

“I’m going to fail. I’m right outside Strings and they’re practicing Bach and I just want to. Scream.” Loki slides down to floor, knees tucked underneath the sharp point of his chin.

There’s a pause, and then: 

“That’s no attitude I ever raised you with.”

Loki drops the phone. His vision grows spotty for a second, and there’s a sound like thunder and wind in his ears.

It is a long moment before he’s able to press the phone back to his ear.

“Father.”

“Next month, your Aunt Sigyn is getting married. I expect you to be there. You can hide in your brother’s skirts, if you wish.”

Loki gnaws on the edge of his thumb until he draws blood, hot and salty on his tongue.

“There’s nothing that I haven’t bent over backwards to provide for you, Loki,” his father says, and Loki’s knees are pressed so tightly to his chest that they’re digging into the soft undercarriage of his ribs.

“I sent you to that school in London. I sent you to Yale. It would be--” his father pauses, and Loki takes a big breath, and rattles. “It would be remiss of you to think I didn’t love you.”

The words are matter-of-fact, but they ring with his father’s particular brand of sincerity, and Loki is abashed.

“I know. I know that, Father. I love you too.” The words stick funnily, and he rubs maniacally at his shin, the smooth black of his dress slacks reddening the flesh with friction.

“My beautiful boy,” his father says, and Loki listens to the sound of his own breathing for long minutes after his father hangs up.

-

Anica and Aaron talk above him, in muted tones that Loki doesn’t like, but he finds he’s not quite strong enough to stand.

“Go get the car,” he hears, and there’s a pause before he listens to the soft  _ clickclack  _ of heels as Anica hurries away.

“Loki. Is there anyone you want me to call?”

Loki shakes his head forecfully, shoving his iPhone as far away as he can, and it skitters down polished wood.

Aaron curses under his breath and retrieves it, kneeling just in front of Loki’s face. 

It takes all the effort Loki possesses to make eye contact, and Aaron smiles, mouth crooked.

“There he is,” Aaron says, soft, and Loki blinks hard, eyes wet. He hates this.

Aaron’s hand comes up to settle in his hair, warm, with fingers thicker than Loki’s own, but still slim. He has a long reach.

“You’re okay,” Aaron says, eyes hooded, and Loki feels cornered, exposed brick at his back, and he’s close to hyperventilating.

Sudden footsteps permeate the silence, and they sound like dress shoes on pine, approaching at a brisk pace.

Aaron looks away, still supporting Loki’s head, and then he’s gone, and Loki’s neck flops forward against his will. He makes a strange sound of loss and there’s a buzz above him, the rumble of something familiar, but he can’t make it out.

His world tilts, and he can feel strong arms cradling behind his knees and upper back, and one hand presses at his head until it’s ensconced in the crook of a neck.

The neck smells like Thor, and he presses a kiss to it, whispers a plaintive  _ Daddy  _ into the skin. The chest around him coughs and Loki doesn’t remember anything else.

-

Thor is not gone the next morning.

Loki usually wakes up to him almost out the door, as Loki’s classes begin two hours later, but Thor is seated in the armchair across the room, lounge pants on, his chest bare.

Loki rubs his eyelids and shivers as he sits up. He’s in one of Thor’s sweatshirts from undergrad, white, grey and something not quite red. 

“Thor?” Loki says, and Thor does not move.

“Do you want to be with me?” Thor says, and Loki rises to his knees, fabric riding up across bare thighs.

“Of course I do!” Loki says, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what happened last night, but I know that I always want you,” Loki says, and Thor stands, crossing his arms.

“I never gave you a chance to find out what you wanted. I just. I saw you, and I wanted you. I still want you. I wanted you to look up at me like that forever.” Thor pauses, scrubbing his hand through recently-cut hair.

“Your eyes are so green, did you know that? When you look at me…” Thor says, “fuck. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I’d do anything.”

Loki’s not good with words. And, although Thor is quite a bit better at communication, Loki can show him.

The sweatshirt is heavy but it comes off with ease, and Thor’s gaze darts down to his nipples, hardened instantly against the chill of the room.

“Lo,” Thor whispers, and Loki lies back, knocking his legs open so wide he feels the strain. “I want you to play with my hole,” Loki says, forcing himself to make direct eye contact even though his whole body is flushed red.

“I only want you to fuck me, Daddy,” Loki adds, and Thor’s tenting his pants now, dark-grey fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of all that dick.

“This isn’t why I want you,” Thor says, but he sounds lust-drunk, and Loki pulls his knees to his chest, offering himself.

“I’ve never done anything with anyone but you,” Loki says. “Why would I wanna start?”

Thor rushes closer, dipping his body so that it covers Loki’s entirely. “You wouldn’t,” Thor says, and his voice is a firm thing.

“I’m never gonna let you, either,” Thor says, and he sounds frantic, fumbling with his drawers until their favorite brand of lube pops out, his fingers sloppy and wet even as Loki mewls and scratches his own thighs in an attempt to keep them open.

“Fuck,” Thor says, a quick one-two-three drag inside Loki’s hole. “Are you always gonna be my baby boy?”

Loki gasps at the penetration and his ears are claret. Thor has a dirty mouth but Loki’s never heard him say any of this in bed before, and Loki preens at the attention.

“Yes, yes yes,” Loki says, and Thor cups his dick in one hand, the other pushing Loki’s right leg so high it slots beneath his chin.

He slaps the wet crown of it against Loki’s slick hole, and Loki gurgles at the sticky noise the connection makes.

“Yes, who, sweetheart?” Thor demands, his chest hair slightly darkened with sweat, muscles flexing almost superfluously. 

“Daddy,” Loki spits, mouth dropped open on a whine. “I want you to fuck me and fill me up and make me--make me cry because you’re my Daddy and I---” 

Loki chokes and screams as Thor shoves forward, not roughly but inexorable all the same, a battering ram of unrelenting proportions.

He reaches a hand between them, slapping lightly at Loki’s balls, followed with a harder smack to Loki’s cock, and Loki trembles at the tri-fold assault, mouth red and wet.

Thor’s looking down at him, eyes feral, and his fingers make bruises around Loki’s hips and Loki thinks that this is what it means to be in love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I suffer at [this hellhole](http://brosamigos.tumblr.com/) if y’all have prompts/questions


End file.
